That Gas Thing
by Neo Genesis1
Summary: They say it's best to forget a bad past and put it behind you. But it's not always that easy. Sometimes, the only way to truly move on, is to watch it burn. :Two parter, rated for lang. and adult themes:
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Four Brothers belongs to Paramount. I claim no ownership.

**Author's Note**: This little idea popped into my head a few days ago while listening to Coldplay. There are a lot of scenes in the movie that allude to past adventures, but the one that always stood out to me was when Jack asked Bobby if they were "gonna do that gas thing." Between that line and the song, the gears got to turning and this is the result.

**Dedications**: Good music, good character development, and the talent that made all the magic happen. Without you, there would be no words.

**That Gas Thing**

"_He said 'I'm gonna buy this place and burn it down. I'm gonna put it six feet underground.' " _

- Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head

Bobby never expected a huge homecoming whenever he made his way back to Detroit. He didn't expect things to have been put on pause either. The Mercer household went on with or without his help, and if he was honest with himself, it went a lot smother when he wasn't around to stir things up.

He had missed the holidays. Couldn't clean up the mess he made of things in Jersey fast enough to make it. He could hear the disappointment in his mother's voice when he called Christmas Eve to let her know that he just couldn't get away. She didn't ask the reason why. After almost thirty years of his behavior she knew it was better for everyone if she didn't. There was a sadness that he could detect under the disappointment. He didn't catch it until she told him Angel wasn't able to get out of service and Jerry had decided to spend the day with Camile's family. Her younger sister was in town and she hadn't seen the girls in almost a year.

"_I guess it's just me and Jack this year then,"_ she had said after an almost inaudible sigh._ "Promise you'll be in for his birthday. He could stand to look at something else besides my old face."_

He had felt like the royal fuck up everyone always said he was after hanging up. Christmas come and went, New Years too. Now it was two weeks into January and he still felt like a house trained dog that had pissed on the living room rug. He couldn't get her tone out of his head, nor that quiet exhale of breathe. Evelyn never had to flat out say what she thought of him. She never even had to raise her voice. But he had still envisioned her standing in front of him, her lips pulled thin by a frown and her blue eyes speaking all the things she needn't say aloud.

That image had haunted him until the moment he pulled up to the pastel painted house, the wheels of his car crunching in the dirty snow. The porch light was off. He wasn't surprised. They were expecting him that afternoon, but a few caffeine pills and a lead foot had sped him through the last leg of his drive. It was almost three in the morning and he was home.

His rarely used key turned easily in the lock and he eased the front door open as quietly as he could. The familiar smells and slight chill hit him like a train as he locked the door behind him and stood on the mat. The remains of dinner's aroma hung in the air, probably something fried. Maybe chicken. His stomach gave an angry growl as he pulled off his coat and began to unlace his boots. It had been awhile since he ate the last of the peanut butter sandwiches he'd made for the road trip. He ran a hand across the back of his neck as he bent over to place his shoes next to the many pairs of bladed skates by the door.

As always, nothing much had changed as far as appearances went in the Mercer home. The light over the stove in the kitchen was on, as it had been for as long as he could remember. It casted a yellow glow into the front hall, giving him enough to see by. Upstairs was dark but there was a flickering coming from the living room. He figured it was Jack, forever the night owl, strumming on his acoustic and using the cable infomercials as company.

He strode into the room, a predictable and annoying greeting about his little brother's sexuality on lips when he stopped in his tracks. The sight that he'd been expecting wasn't there. Instead of his younger brother's mess of blond hair and surprised eyes, he found his mother sitting in the middle of the couch, her head tilted to the side and eyes closed in sleep. There was an afghan resting in her lap and she was in her night clothes and robe.

"What the fuck?" he muttered as he made his way towards her, a little more obvious of the creaks his footsteps make on the aging hardwood floor.

He hadn't expected things to be the same when he got back. But this, this was enough to let him know that things weren't quite as well off as he figured them to be. He frowned, noting that the elegant streak of gray hair she had the last time he was home had spread almost to her temples.

"Hey, Ma. Wake up," he said, reaching out a hand to shake her lightly. She stirred, her eyes easing open and blinking a few times.

"Jackie?"

"No, Ma, it's Bobby."

He watched as she processed this and sat up straighter. A smile graced her lips and one of her hands reached over to grab his own that was still resting on her shoulder.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow."

"It is tomorrow," he said smartly, "What are you doing down here? You should be in bed."

The smile changed from one of surprise and delight to one of resignation. "Jack isn't home yet. I was waiting up for him."

"Isn't it a school night?" He was pretty sure the day was Thursday. Technically Friday if one considered the time. Either way, Jack should have been home ages ago, and his mother shouldn't have been worrying over him in the middle on the night. Especially on the well abused couch.

"He went out after dinner. I just wanted to make sure he got home OK," she yawned, her eyes sliding close again, "I'm glad you're here, Bobby. You plan on sticking around?"

Always the same questions with her. He sighed, slipping one arm under her knees and the other behind her shoulders.

"You know me, Ma. I'm thinking about it."

She chucked a little as he lifted her up and headed out the room for the stairs. It was a game with them by now. They both realized a long time ago that it was a waste of energy to argue over his visits. When he was there, he was _there_, and that's all that mattered.

The trek to her room was silent, and it wasn't until he was pulling the covers over her that she brought herself back into consciousness.

"Go easy on him, Bobby. He's had a rough few weeks."

"To hell with easy. That idiot needs a knock up side the head"

She sighed, her eyes dark in the scarce light. "Trust me. If you push him too much now he'll lock up again."

He couldn't go against that. He remembered well the first year or so after Jack had been adopted. It wasn't something he wished to repeat. The cold shoulder. The silence. And the nightmares... Those had been the worse.

"Fine, but I'm not gonna act like it didn't happen."

She eyed him wearily before yawning again. "There's some chops, rice, and green beans in the fridge. Make yourself a plate and we'll talk in the morning. You can take Angel's room when you go to bed."

He knew better to tell her that he wasn't planning on sleeping and opted for "goodnight" and a kiss to her forehead. She patted him on the cheek and rolled over, pulling the cover over her face to block the streetlight coming through the window.

Easing out of the room, he closed the door behind him and went down the stairs. The air was chilly and he rubbed at his arms as he made his way into the kitchen to check the thermostat. Evelyn had knocked the heat back to save money. He pushed it up to 75. Since he was up he might as well be comfortable. He'd leave money when he left, whenever that was.

It didn't take him long to pull the tupperware out, shovel food onto a paper plate, and stick it in the microwave for two minutes on high. He actions were automatic, and every once in a while he'd glance at the clock and frown as the seconds ticked by. He ate quickly and tossed his trash before putting the leftovers back. Only thirty minutes had passed since he first walked through the front door and his little, and often troubled, brother had yet to make an appearance.

Bobby was no saint and he wouldn't be fool enough to attempt to argue with someone when they said he was not the best father figure. But the one thing he wouldn't stand for was someone speaking ill of the love he had for his family. Most people who knew him understood the extent he was willing to go to for them. If you didn't protect your family then you were useless. Blood relation or not, he knew that better then anyone else.

The problem was you sometimes had to protect the family from one of it's own.

Lord knows he and his brothers had raised hell in their day, and for old times sake, sometimes still would. But Jack could put them all to shame. He was subtle with his offensives. While he, Jerry, and Angel were out stealing, drinking, and screwing around, Jack would be upstairs running a razor across him arms while Kurt Corban wailed in the background. He was the tragic one in their little clan. The rest of them adopted a "fuck the world" attitude when it came to hurting, but Jack would internalize and take his pain out on himself.

Bobby remembered distinctively when Evelyn got her first gray hair, exactly thirty-two days after a fourteen year old Jack Kelly became Jack Mercer. He had caught his mother frowning at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, pulling the offending hair out by the root and throwing him a sad smile.

"_That boy, he might just be the death of me,"_ she said before pulling out her makeup bag.

He hadn't taken her seriously at that moment, but once hockey season was over and he came home to experience Jack's destructive nature first hand, he was truly sorry he didn't. It was a long, hard battle to get the kid to realize he was safe and didn't have to hurt himself whenever things went wrong. Most of all, it had taken every ounce of patience to get Jack to trust. Not just himself, but Evelyn and the rest of the family.

Unfortunately, like every person with an addiction, a relapse was only a hair's breath away.

Jack had a lot of demons. Some were self made, but most of them had been inflicted onto him. Evelyn had told him about the messed up things that had happened to him in the past, more of a warning then a confession. Bobby was loud, bold, and opinionated. He was the alpha male, and poor Jack had too many bad experiences with men like him that were sick enough to take advantage of an abused, introverted child.

As he made his way into the living room and sat down to flip through the TV channels, he had to remind himself of that fact. He was angry. No... more along the likes of livid. But confronting his brother that way wouldn't get him anywhere. Jack would clam up, put up as much of a defense as he could, and retreat. An easy and predictable tactic, but one that would take days to undo. Bobby could only imagine the reason behind Jack's behavior this time. It was always unpredictable. Judging from the fact that his mom was waiting up for him was enough to know it was serious. She never did that with the rest of her boys, secure in the knowledge that they would get themselves out of trouble. If they didn't, she'd know when the phone started ringing.

He was in the middle of a free credit report commercial when he heard the back door open. Sitting up he reached for the remote and cut the television off, bringing the room to darkness and leaving the house silent. Suddenly alert, he listened as footsteps scuffled around the kitchen floor. A cabinet opened, something was pulled out and sat on a flat surface. Then the magnetic edges of the fridge door where pulled apart and he could hear liquid being poured.

Bobby slid off the couch and made his way to the other room, scrapping his shin on the coffee table edge and gritting his teeth to stop a curse. His timing was perfect despite that. Jack was shoving a bottle of orange juice back into the door when he moved in behind him, crossed his arms and waited.

It didn't take long. His brother was midway in raising the glass to his mouth when he finally turned and saw him standing there. He started, spilling the orange liquid down the front of his leather jacket and onto the floor.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" He took a step back, bumping into the counter, "You damn near gave me a heart attack!"

"That's too bad. You'll be wishing for a heart attack by the time I'm done with you."

Jack didn't seem to be concerned. Instead he sat the glass of juice down on the counter and reached for some paper towels.

"What do you want, Bobby," he asked as he cleaned up his jacket.

"I want to know why the fuck Ma was camped out on the couch waiting for your sorry ass in the middle of the night."

Jack didn't answer. Instead he bent over and used the wad of paper in his hand to soak up the liquid on the tiled floor. When he finally did straighten himself he walked over to toss the mess in the garbage, leaving his back exposed as he lifted up the lid.

It was a stupid move to make. He'd taught him better. Maybe he had been away too long this time. The Jack he knew wouldn't have let his defenses down in a fight with him. He managed to get his head in a firm lock before his brother rose and turned back around. The was a second of stiffness in the younger boys body before his hands came up to pry the arms from around his nick. But Bobby wasn't going to relent, even with his fingers dug painfully into his forearms.

"You gonna tell me what your behavior is all about or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?"

"Fuck you." The words were strangled but still forceful in their effect as Jack started to struggle against his hold. Bobby had a hard time of keeping his grip and avoiding the kicks that were aimed at him. The kid had sprouted up since his last visit, overlooking him by a few inches now. Despite his general appearance Jack could hold his own when necessary. His lankly arms and legs fooled many people, but they were more muscle then skin and bones and Bobby had been on the receiving end of the appendages on many occasions.

When Jack first came to them, Evelyn had explained that he was like a stray dog. Timid and scary, but when cornered the feral part of him would take over. She had stressed how important it was to take things slow. Slow wasn't in Bobby's vocabulary. That was more in tune with Jerry, who had taken the time to cuddle their new addition while he and Angel where out reeking havoc.

Bobby had taken the time to show him how to embrace the wild side of his personality. It was one of the few things he was good at. The animalistic drive to protect what was valuable. While everyone else walked on eggshells he would intentionally provoke him. A shove into a corner as his passed by. Flushing the toilet when he was showering. Stealing food off his plate at the dinner table.

Evelyn didn't like it.

"_You're bullying him. He had enough of that in foster care. I told him he was_safe_ here, Bobby. Now your making it appear as if I'm going back on my word. If you plan on keeping this up, you can just go back to wherever the hell you were and leave us alone."_

Her words had hurt. But he didn't relent. The kid wasn't going to get anywhere if they kept babying him. He knew that behind that meek, submissive act he'd mastered was a boy that was willing to take on the world if it meant he got the respect he deserved. He would see a flash of it in his eyes, whenever he messed with him, before he'd avert his gaze and try to become invisible again.

The Jack that he'd been looking for, the _real_ Jack finally surfaced three months after his adoption. Bobby had taken the remote from him and called him a fairy for the first time. By the end of it all, he was sporting a bleeding lip and Jack's eye was starting to swell. Things finally clicked in his head, though, as he was hauled to his feet and was showed the proper way to use his fists. Angel volunteered to put the books and nicknacks back on their proper shelves while they went out to by a new coffee table. During the ride he let Jack control the radio and that's when he got his first smile.

Of course, it didn't fix him, but it opened the door to their relationship. Bobby played teacher and Jack was the apt pupil. And Evelyn never asked about the new table or his black eye.

He was almost legal now, and apparently had packed on a few pounds to go with the height. Jack went slack in his arms and Bobby stumbled a little with the dead weight.

"You ready to talk now?"

He didn't get an answer, so his just sighed and pulled a chair out from the table with his foot before slinging his brother's body into it. He sat down across from him, and after a brief staring contest Jack crossed his arms and looked away.

"What are you doing, Jackie?"

"I was getting some juice before you tried to pull my head off."

"Don't jerk me around. You know what I'm talking about," He shifted in his chair, leaning in more, "You promised you'd stop doing this to us, Jack. Now you come waltzing in here smelling like a drunk on a three day bender. I don't know what else you've been in to, but I swear to God if that rattle in your pocket isn't a pack of Tic-Tacs I'm gonna tear you a new one."

He still wasn't looking at him, "Leave it a lone, Bobby."

"That's what you always say. But you already know I'm not," he frowned, "So what's your excuse this time, huh? Get a bad grade? Couldn't get it up for some girl? Or is this just some fucked up way to get back at me for not being around?"

That seemed to get his attention. He turned to look at him, jaw clenching, "Not everything that goes on in this house is about you, Bobby."

"Sure as hell doesn't seem that way! For the past year every time I come home and you've some mess for me to clean up."

"I'm thirsty."

"Here, you candy ass," he reached behind and grabbed the orange juice. "Drink up."

Jack took the glass from him and sat it on the table. Bobby watched as he fingered to engraving of Micky Mouse with one hand and ran the other tiredly across the back of his neck.

"You can't keeping playing this damaged rebel routine, Jack," his voice was softer now, "Bad shit happened to you and you have every right to be pissed off about it. But destroying yourself isn't going to make it go away."

He was still concentrating on the glass. Bobby cracked his knuckles and went on, "If you want to fuck your life up, that's fine. Just don't drag the family into your twisted way of getting attention."

Jack picked the glass up, but instead of tilting it towards his lips, he threw it at him. It grazed his temple, splashing juice over his air and face and crashing into shards somewhere behind him. He hissed when some got into his eyes, the citrus burning. Jack's chair scrapped across the tiled floor as he stood up quickly.

"I'm not doing anything for attention," he growled at him and Bobby opened blurry eyes to see his angry face and clenched fists, "I'm fucking tired of feeling. You're never going to understand that. Making me angry isn't going to do anything because it hasn't changed anything!"

He ran his hands through his hair, swaying a little on his feet. "You don't know what it's like to burn. You don't know what it's like to feel it inside of you eating away at everything, and not matter how much you talk about it it still hurts. Every time things seem to get better, it gets shoved in my face. So either I can hate the world and myself, or I can become numb."

"Sit down Jack," he said as he whipped at his eyes one last time. "Sit down and talk so that I can understand."

"No! I'm done with talking. I'm done with therapy and prescriptions and people holding my god damn hand. They don't help. _You_ don't help. So just fucking leave it alone!"

Bobby watched silently as he stormed out of the kitchen and out the back door, slamming it behind him with enough force to rattle the dishes in the drying rack. With a frustrated growl he stood up and went for the paper towels, only to step on the remains to the glass that had shattered against the counter.

"Shit!" He sat back down heavily, pulling his left foot into his lap to see the shard that had gone through sock into his skin, "Fucking temperamental brat. He wants to be numb, then I'll make him numb. Break his back in six places. Won't feel much after that." He yanked the glass out of his foot with a wince and pulled his sock off to inspect the cut.

"I told you to just leave it be."

Startled, he looked up to see Evelyn standing in the doorway.

"You should be in bed," he said, no longer in the mood to see anyone's face. Even if it was his mother's.

"So should you," she countered as she walked over. He just rolled his eyes and pressed his sock against his bleeding foot.

"Here," she sighed as she pulled up a chair and placed a first aid kit that she'd been holding on the table, "I'll take care of that."

He watched as she worked, his mind miles away as he mulled over the past fifteen minutes. Jack was right. He didn't understand. And never would unless he took the time to explain why he did the things he did. His problem was that he never grasped the concept that people actually cared.

A sharp sting in his already throbbing foot brought him back to the present as he jerked away from her hands.

"Stop that," she ordered as she pressed a cotton ball soaked iodine back to the cut, "I swear, you can be such a baby."

"Yeah yeah," he ran a hand over his face, which was still wet from the orange juice, "He's slipping again, Ma. I don't know how to fix it."

She pulled out a band-aid, eyed it, then went for a bigger one. "You can't fix it, Bobby. Only he can fix it. All any of us can do is ease the process. Your usual tactics aren't going to work now."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"I wish I could answer that," she sighed again, "I'm still trying to figure out my part in all this. But it's hard, because he's closing himself off."

"What happened? There had to have been a trigger. Last time I was here he was healthy. We didn't fight. He was trying out for soccer. Hell, we even talked about girls. I go away for a few months and come back to find this, this... monster wearing his clothes."

She patted him on the knee before standing, "Why don't I clean up this mess and you make some coffee. I don't suspect we'll be getting anymore sleep anyway. I'll tell you what's happened once all that's settled."

He nodded and hobbled over to the stove to put the kettle on the burner while she busied herself with a rag and the broom. He almost told her to leave the broken glass for Jack to take care of, but kept it to himself. More then likely he wouldn't show up until sometime in the afternoon. When the water boiled he fixed two glasses and brought them to the table. She had already pulled out the sugar and milk.

She didn't speak again until they both has settled down. She took a sip of her drink, no sugar with just a dash of milk and waited for him to finish puring sugar into his own. He never really did like the taste of black coffee. He always figured if he was going to drink something that bad, it might as well be alcoholic. When he finally sat his spoon down, she gave him a slight smile and wrapped her fingers around her mug.

"I probably should have told you this before the holidays. But I don't want to trouble you. I'm sure you had enough to worry about in Jersey."

That was an understatement, he thought as he unconsciously fingered the scar running across his forearm.

"I got a phone call from Rachael, Jack's old case worker, about a week before Christmas. She wanted to inform me that Steven Kelly was up for probation, and the strongest defense they had to keep the bastard in prison was to get Jack to testify against him again."

He was taking another sip from his mug when she said that and managed to swallow the burning coffee too fast. He coughed, grimacing as his eyes teared up for the second time within an hour.

"So you see now why I asked you not to push him?"

He sat back in his chair to took a deep breath, "I screwed up, didn't I."

"Well, you never did listen to me when I tried to teach you about patience. Shoot now, ask questions later doesn't work all the time. Maybe _you_ should have been the one to go into the military."

"This isn't funny, Ma."

"I'm not making jokes," she deadpanned, "You're too hot headed and it gets you into trouble. That attitude isn't going to help Jack any. You need a battle plan."

She was right. He didn't like it, but she was. He nodded, his mind buzzing as he planned.

"Jackie said something was burning in him," he muttered, more to himself then to her. He didn't catch her frown as he ran his fingers through his too long hair.

"Don't do anything stupid," she warned.

He smirked, "I won't." It was the truth. He wouldn't do anything stupid. Illegal on all sorts of levels, yes, but defiantly not stupid.

"What are you thinking Bobby?"

His smirk grew into a smile, "I'm thinking of fighting fire with fire."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapter.

**Author's Note**: Thanks for all the lovely reviews. You guys make a girl feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Just like whiskey. Anyway, here's the wrap up. It's a raw post, so forgive any grammatical errors and the such. I'll fix them as I find them.

That Gas Thing  
Chapter 2

Jerry was rather confused when he showed up at his house later that morning for a quick greeting and the request for his sister-in-law's phone number. Camille had been upstairs with Daniela and Amelia, which meant he was saved from her questioning. Not that Jerry was any better.

"What do you want with an nineteen-year-old's number?"

He shoveled a forkful scrambled eggs into his mouth before answering. "I need to ask her a question."

Jerry shook his head as he got up and scrapped the remains of his breakfast into the sink, "I don't know what your planning, but you drag Nicky into it I'm gonna kill you. After Camille gets done with you first. She's protective of her sister."

He almost laughed. Nicky was no angel, and he was damn sure she was raising hell over in Boston where there were no parents or older siblings to keep her in line. The last thing Jerry had to worry about was him corrupting her. She did a well enough job on her own.

"Look," he sighed and shoved his empty plate away from him, "I'm not dragging her into anything. It's just a fucking question."

"Don't yank me around Bobby, I know you," he said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, "And watch your mouth. I've told you about talking like that around my girls."

"You have a two year old and a baby that's six months. Nothing I say is gonna sink in until they are at least five. Besides, they're not even down here."

Jerry glowered at him before turning to rinse his plate off in the sink. He didn't speak again until he was finished. By that time Bobby had polished off the glass of milk he poured earlier before letting go a loud belch.

"Pig," his brother muttered under his breath.

He shrugged. "You've been with that woman of yours too long. You not longer have that bachelor charm."

"Why do you need to talk to Nicky?" He deadpanned.

"I told you-"

"What's your question then?" He pressed, cutting him off.

Bobby blinked once, raking his brain for a convincing answer, "I need a recipe."

Jerry raised his brows, "A recipe?"

So it wasn't the soundest of replies, but it was the quickest he could come up with. And when he really thought about it, it wasn't so much a lie as it was bending the truth.

"Yeah. It was something she made for Cracker Jack back when she was in school with him. He's going through a rough spot, and considering he liked it so much I figured I'd try it to cheer him up some."

Jerry mulled over his answer for a few seconds, "But you don't cook, Bobby."

His smile was all teeth. "That's what makes it a _surprise, _Jerry."

He eyed him wearily before giving him a defeated sigh, "I know you're up to something," he said as he walked over to the phone and picked up a notepad sitting next to it, "Just don't pull her into your madness." He tossed the pad onto the table.

"Thanks Jer," Bobby nodded as he glanced over the numbers written on the paper and found the one that read _NICKY(cell)_ in Jerry's scrawl.

"Whatever. I've got to get to work. Let Camille know when you leave. And don't forget to lock the door behind you."

He barely acknowledged him with a wave goodbye while fishing a pen out of his pocket and scribbling the number on the palm of his hand. He had enough presents of mind to load up and start the dishwasher before he headed out, only to find the number smudged when he was done. Deciding it was safer to write it down on paper, he stuffed the torn off sheet in his jeans and headed for the stairs.

Camille was in the kid's room, feeding Amelia a bottle while Daniela entertained herself with an assortment of toys on the carpeted floor. Poster child for Fisher Price, he thought as she banged away on a plastic child piano with flashing lights.

"Hey, Cammie, I'm heading out."

She wrinkled her nose at the nickname, but smiled none-the-less. "Alright. I'll see you on Sunday for dinner. You are going to be there, right?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me if I'm hanging around? I just got here, damn it! And I'm not _that_ unreliable."

"Language," she reminded as Amelia started to fuss at the raise in voice.

"Sorry," he mumbled, avoiding the disapproving look she was giving him, which was all he ever seemed to get from her, "I'll let myself out."

He kept the radio off as he drove away, stopping once at the gas station to buy and fill up two 5-gallon Blitz gas cans. The house was quiet when he made his way inside. With his stomach full and his head traveling to a million different places, he settled on the couch and tried to numb everything down with daytime talk shows.

He didn't know he'd fallen asleep until he woke up with a jerk and a snort, a hand coming up to wipe at the corner of his damp mouth. The sound on the TV was considerable louder then he remembered it being and he reached to his side for the remote only to find it missing. Blinking, he sat up, noting the morning sun was no longer pouring through the windows. His rest had been dreamless, and he eyed his watch to find it the time approaching four.

"Damn," he muttered, rubbing at his eyes before going into a stretch. It was only then that he noticed Jack sitting in the love seat to his right, idly flipping through the channels, completely ignoring him. His hair was damp, and Bobby caught the faint sent of Dial soap coming from his direction as he lowered his arms and shifted in his seat.

Despite the obvious shower, Jack still looked as if he'd been on a week long bing. The skin around his eyes was sunken and dark, making his normal pallor more pronounced then usual. As he flicked through channels, he noted his knuckles were pink and raw. Bobby frowned. Sometimes he regretted teaching the kid how to stand up for himself. Jack would never go looking for a fight, if anything he went out of his way to avoid confrontation. But if forced into one he'd be sure to finish it. Whatever he'd gotten into during his absents had come to that point.

Knowing the self destructive routine by now, he frowned at him, "How long have you been up, Jack?"

He took his time answering, settling on cartoons and tossing the remote down. "I don't know, what day is it?"

"Friday."

He shrugged, eyes still on the television. "Almost three days."

Bobby snorted. "You're a fucking idiot."

"So I've been told." The reply was unfazed and not in the least bit concerned.

Bobby sighed, leaning his head back and resting his arms on the back of the couch, falling into the silence that proceeded comfortable. The TV was still at an eardrum splitting level as he closed his eyes and mentally ran over the 'avoid family disaster check list' plan in his head, only then _really_ remembering the date.

Focusing back on his brother, he licked his lips. "Happy birthday, Jackie."

He didn't respond immediately. Standing, he pulled a tin of shredded tobacco out of his back pocket before shuffling towards the hall, head lowered to the floor. Bobby barely heard the quiet 'Thanks' over the blaring show as the front door opened and shut a second later. He shook his head and got up from the couch with a sigh, heading towards the kitchen to fix a sandwich which he ate while hauling his things up to Angel's room and pulling out a fresh change of clothes.

He had just hopped into the shower when he heard noise from downstairs. Rinsing soap off his face, he pushed his hair out of his eyes and listened as footsteps headed up the stairs.

"Jack, you fairy, you could have left some hot water!"

"I take it he came back, huh?"

The voice was not the one he was expecting. Turning, he saw Evelyn leaning against the door frame.

"Jesus, Ma!" He hurried to yank the shower curtain close all the way. She chucked as she moved into the tiny room and plunked down on the lowered toilet seat.

"You didn't chase him off again, did you Bobby?"

He sighed and reached for a washcloth to lather up with soap, wondering why everyone kept assuming he was the one responsible for all things that went wrong in their clan.

"No. I woke up from a nap and he was there. Left not soon after."

"Hmm," she sighed. "He'll be back. For dinner maybe. I'm making his favorite."

Bobby wanted to tell her not to hold her breath but he kept it to himself. He already had both his bothers irritated with him. He didn't want to add her to the list.

"When you're done in here do you mind running to the store for me? I need some spinach and cottage cheese."

"Sure thing, Ma."

She left, closing the door behind her as he shut off the water and grabbed a towel to dry off. He needed to shave, but he shrugged the idea away as he went to Angel's room and pulled on his jeans from earlier and a clean sweater. He then realized he'd forgotten to pack extra socks.

"Ain't that a bitch," he mumbled while sniffing the pair he'd been wearing since Jersey. It wasn't pleasant. He tossed them into his bag with a disgusted frown before stealing some from Angel's dresser. He pulled them on along with his sneakers before reaching into his pocket for his wallet to check his funds. Gas really was getting too expensive. Especially when someone was planning on using it for a little B&E with a side of arson. It was then he remembered the slip of paper with Nicky's number on it. Checking the clock, he figured it was as good a time as any to call. If he waited any longer he may not get her. It was the start of the weekend, after all, and there was no telling what kind of madness she was planning on getting into.

It rang five times and just when he was about to replace the phone back on the cradle she picked up. He could barely hear the greeting over the chorus of voices in the background. All of them female. All of them loud.

He frowned. "Nicky?"

"_Yeah_," the voice on the other end responded, "_Who is this?_"

"It's Bobby."

There was a pause as she talked to someone else, almost shouting to be heard over the commotion. "_Wha'jah say?_"

"Bob-"

"_Wait! Let me find some place quieter._"

He waited as the sounds coming through the phone changed from loud girls to various types of music. Most of it featuring piano. There was a guy yelling now, but Bobby couldn't make sense of the words. He couldn't make sense of any of it really, and he was relieved when he heard a door shut and then silence.

"What the hell was all that," he asked, scratching at the bridge of his nose.

"_It's called the start of spring semester. Now who the hell is this? And make it quick. I've got a pass de deux class in five._"

"A what?"

"_Pass. De. Deux_," she said is slowly, as if she was speaking to an invalid. "_Pairs class. Where a male and female dancer duet together._"

"Yeah, whatever. I didn't call to get a lesson in gay or whatever language you tutu princesses speak in."

She sighed on the other end. "_Hello Bobby. I've so missed these one sided, homophobic conversations of ours._"

"And I've missed your sweet little ass." He grinned, "You remember those pajama shorts you wore last summer? I've been missing those the most."

"_Listen, I don't have time for this. So cut out the harassment and get to the point before I hang up_."

"Fine. I need some help with Jackie."

There was silence on the other line for a moment and he feared she actually did hang up, but finally he heard her sigh again.

"_It must be bad, huh? For you to call me._"

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

"_I don't know what to tell you, Bobby. It's not like he and I are that close. The most I ever did was score him some dro and a porno or two. Hell, I haven't even talked to him since fall._"

"I'm not asking for suggestions." He flopped down on the twin-sized bed behind him, faintly wondering how a person Angel's size could fit in it comfortable when he barely could. "You remember that fourth of July when he ran off and you found him at that party over at Squirrel's place."

"_Oh yeah, the Redneck Revival thing_." She laughed, "_Man, there were so many crazy things going on that night. I remember Demarc Jacobs poured a handle of Vodka in the jacuzzi in the backyard. He kept convincing all these girls to get in and they couldn't figure out why they were so drunk afterwards. Then Pete... you know Pete, right? God, he's got to be your age. Anyway_-"

"Nicky!" He cut her off. The girl had an attention span of a gold fish at times. "I don't need to know all the details of the party. I was there at one point. I saw all the stupid shit you kids where doing. What I need is for you to focus."

When she didn't respond, he went on.

"What where you two burning when I found you?"

"_Oh!_" He could almost hear the smile on her face. "_The napalm?_"

He rolled his eyes, "It wasn't napalm, Nic."

"_I _know_ that Bobby. But it burned for almost twenty minutes. That stuff is as close as you're gonna get to the real thing without the Feds breathing down your neck for some ill conceived terrorist act that they made up_."

A pause.

"_What the hell does this have to do with making Jack better?_"

"Just tell me what the shit was."

"_Some guy at school told us about it. Art geek, ya know? Figured it out when he tried to tag a board made out of foam with some spray paint. It started to melt, so he started to experiment with it. The stuff he had at the party was foam core, the kind you use for __insulation__, and gasoline._"

He tilted his head, not convinced it was that easy. "That's all it was? Are your sure?"

"_Yeah. I saw him mix it. Took a minute for the foam to melt, but once it did you could spread it on anything and watch it get all ash like._"

She sucked in a breath, "_Just what the hell are you planning, Bobby Mercer? Cause if the cops start questioning me I'm not gonna put my ass on the line for you. They can trace cell phone calls now, so don't go screwing things up for me!_"

He could picture the look on her face. Angry, lips pulled down in what should have been a glower, but looked more like a pout then anything.

"Relax. I was just wondering. So don't go getting your tights in a bunch."

"_Screw you._"

He smirked, realizing all the directions those two words could turn their talk as he fell back onto the pillows.

"So," he drew the word out, "Tell me Nicky... what exactly do they have you wearing to that Pa Da Do class you're supposed to be in right now?"

She stuttered for a moment, her mouth fumbling with the words she wanted to say.

"_Ass._" She managed to huff finally, "_Do me a favor Bobby._"

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

"_Lose this number,_" she growled before hanging up.

And he did, tossing the wrinkled up paper into the trash while laughing to himself. After a moment of consideration, he ripped the photo of Lil' Kim he'd be staring at off the wall and tossed it too. Because, honestly, Angel should have better taste then that.

A few minutes later he was heading to the store to buy the items that Evelyn needed for her veggie lasagna.

Not that it mattered. Jack never showed up.

They ate at the table in a concerned silence while the Italian cream cake, made from scratch, was left sitting in the kitchen untouched with its eighteen unlit candles. His mother said they'd save it for tomorrow.

That night, after falling asleep while watching Letterman, he dreamed of his brother. They were in Jack's room and there was a Bic lighter in his hand, the flame flickering as he tilted it so that the silver top was heated. His eyes were hollow as he watched with a fascination that always sent a chill down his spine. Bobby, always the pyromaniac, ironically wanted to tell him to stop. Wanted to tell him not to press the scalding metal to his flesh because there was nothing harmless about the superficial burns it left behind. Even if his fuck-tarded friends viewed the smiley face pattern that marred his skin afterwards as a stamp of approval.

The squirmy, sickly feeling twisting his gut was all the proof he needed to know that something was going to go horrible wrong. He opened his mouth, but all words stuck somewhere between his lungs and his throat. So when Jack let the flame die, Bobby rushed forward to still his arms. As with any dream - no, as with any nightmare - his legs were too slow, turning into molasses. Jack, sitting on his bed with a blank face, seemed to shrink back with every step he took. He didn't stop trying though, even as the lighter touched the pale skin between his wrist and the inside of his elbow, the area around it turning gray then black.

Like paper_,_ he thought when he saw the smoldering, red oval that was left in the center of the burn once Jack pulled the lighter away. Bobby could only gape in horror, feet running nowhere, as the ring of heat started to spread. The smell hit him just as his brother's AC/DC shirt caught, sharp and sickly sweet of all things.

Jack looked up at him as the flames started licking at the ends of his disheveled hair, his left arm now nothing but a charred mess of muscle and bone, and smiled.

Bobby awoke with a jerk on the couch for the second time in under twelve hours, this time sweaty and sick. He barely made it to the kitchen sink before his body rebelled against him. He let the water and garbage disposal run long enough to clear the mess he made before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth free of the acidic taste.

Even though it was a pussy thing to do he slept in Jack's room after that. His face buried in a pillow that smelled of flavored tobacco and hair gel and all the things that made his brother himself, not that burning shell of a thing that he'd just seen. He pulled the unmade bed sheets over his shoulders, shaking off all ill effects, and fell into a dreamless sleep. Evelyn didn't say anything about it when she woke him up hours later for breakfast. He just groaned and rolled over, a part of him disappointed that Jack hadn't showed up at some point to demand why he was there in there first place. The prideful side of him glad he hadn't seen one of his few moments of weakness.

He spent the rest of the day going through the motions, trying to shake off the stupid nightmare while at the same time trying to avoid any serious talk with his mother. He managed to get away from her knowing looks when he left to gather supplies from a chain hardware store, paying with cash out of habit so he wouldn't leave a paper trail. On his way back he swung west, catching the glow of the fading sunset as he stopped by his target.

Lips pulled thin, he sat there long enough to sketch things out.

People often accused him of not being patient. He never argued with them because he knew different. He could be when the time called for it... if he felt it was important enough. So he sat there as the streets grew dark and his fingers started to stiffen up in the cold air of the car. When the few street lights that weren't burned out cut on he turned the engine over and drove to a place where he could work unnoticed. It didn't take him long to cut up the foam boards and dump the shreds into coffee cans half full of gasoline. When he got the results he wanted, he popped the plastic lids back on them and stuck them in a milk crate in his trunk. Afterwards he found a car similar enough to his own to his own and stole the plates.

Back at the house, he heated up leftovers and parked himself on the couch again. He heard when Jack came creeping in but didn't bother to confront him. That would come later, once all his planning had reached it's final stage. Right now they both needed to a few hours of sleep.

Twilight hit and he went out again and tied up all loose ends. When he was satisfied, he swung by Earl's Bar and drowned a few brews. It was out the way, but the owner, Big Bill (who was neither big nor actually named Bill), owed him a favor and would serve as an alibi if the cops starting sniffing around.

The homestead was quiet when he returned. Not bothering to remove his coat or shoes, he bounded up the stairs on the balls of his feet and entered Jack's room after yanking a few of Evelyn's hair pins to pick the lock with.

The poor sap didn't even see it coming. Grabbing him by the hair on the back of his head had been too easy, and despite the disadvantage of height, Bobby was able to drag his jean and t-shirt clad brother out of the bed with ease. The noise Jack's legs made when he manhandled him down the stairs was enough to wake up their mother. At the sudden intrusion of the hallway light they both looked up, cutting off any whispered curses, and stared at her with equally guilty faces.

"Go back to bed, Ma. I'm takin' care of things."

"Bobby-" she started but he shook his head, tightening his hold on Jack as he tried to slip away.

"Just trust me, alright? Everything will be fine when you wake up."

She sighed, glancing at her youngest who was turning red from his struggles and saying every foul word known to man.

"Don't you hurt him Robert Mercer." Stern and final with all sorts of unspoken threats handing at the end.

He smiled at her, "Wouldn't dream of it."

They ended up in the kitchen, Jack planted in his chair after Bobby shot him a glare that dared him to move. He still looked like the ghost of his formal self and Bobby damned everything he could think of for causing his little brother to be so broken up. But what it all came down to was his good for nothing, _pedophile_ of a father. Yanking a glass off the drying rack and pulling a pint sized bottle from his back pocket, he poured a liberal amount with a frown.

"Here." He said as he slid the drink towards Jack.

"What's this?"

"Gin. Double shot. Neat."

Jack gave the glass and it's clear liquid a dubious glance before raising a brow. "Why are you being nice all of a sudden?"

"Would you rather have me deck you?"

He shook his head, giving the glass another look before pinching his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Then shut the fuck up and drink that while I get you a chaser, you pussy."

He had to give the kid credit. On his best days Bobby wouldn't have been able to take a drink like that with a straight face. Because the stuff was _nasty._ Even worse, it was only the cheep kind in a plastic bottle that he'd been able to afford. But Jack soldiered it without even a gag. Only the corner of his mouth tilting down once he swallowed it all in two gulps gave his ballsy facade away. It was that act alone that made Bobby put the orange juice back in the cooler and before he got them both a beer. Halfway through them he ended the heavy silence by clearing his throat,

"We got a job to do, Jackie. So finish that up and put some warm clothes on."

For once since he returned home, Jack did what he was told without protest.

They were both silent as they sat in the car, Bobby mouthing along to Marvin Gaye as Jack dozed against the passenger door. It was amazing the trust he had in him. If he knew where they were headed, he'd probably break through the window just to get away. Older brother's reassurances or not.

He parked a few blocks before their destination, handing Jack the liquor as he followed him to the trunk.

"Bobby?" He chocked on the mouthful he'd just taken when he saw the gas cans, "What th-"

"Shut up and hold this." Bobby handed him a Blitz, telling himself to leave the fully loaded Taurus where it lay even though his fingers were itching to hold it. They wouldn't need guns on this run. Instead he reached for the other can and a grocery bag before shutting the trunk and leading them on the way.

It took Jack a few minutes to recognize where they were. Bobby had to thank the cheep alcohol for that. Once he was in sight of the house Jack tried to book it. Bobby managed to catch him by the hood of his jacket, swinging him around and down, pressing him firmly onto the frozen sidewalk with a knee. He cringed when the plastic bag fell to the ground with a crunch.

"Don't even try it, Jack. You're gonna face this like a fucking man."

"Get off me!" He reached back and tried to pry at his leg.

"Not until you stop behaving like a little fagot!" He pressed down harder, using his weight to his advantage. "This shit has been going on too long, and everyone is sick of it."

"Fuck... You!" He bucked up, trying to displace him with no real results.

"We can do this this easy way, which is you picking up that gas can you dropped and walking the rest of the way to end this fucked up destructive behavior you seem so fond of." He paused, licking his chapped lips, "Or I can beat the shit out of you, drag your skinny ass there anyway, do what needs to be done, then tell Ma it's a good idea to send your ass off to that clinic she's been thinking about sending you to."

The last part was a total bluff. And Bobby almost felt bad for lying when he saw the look of fear and then resignation on Jack's face. He stopped fighting and let out a loud sigh as he clinched his eyes shut.

"Alright." He said with a huff, "Just get off me so we can get this over with."

He let him up without a sound, picking up the grocery bag and it's ruined contents with a frown.

"Let's go."

Bobby ignored Jack's stiff walk as they made their way to the house that had been the start of all his troubles. He also ignored the way he froze in the threshold of the back door after they'd broken in. Or how his hands shook when he poured gasoline around the top floor. But just like a Mercer, he had the guts to stick it out to the very end, not vocalizing his troubles even after Bobby lit a match and tossed it down in the kitchen.

He led him over to the left side of the yard where the shadows grew deeper. Jack barely paid him any mind as he told him not to move and he shuffled through the deep snow to the front yard, pulling his lighter out of his jacket pocket and touching the flame to trails of homemade 'napalm' he'd poured earlier.

Bobby, more prone to snark then sap, didn't have some elaborate, heartfelt speech for Jack as the roof caught and the sound of heated glass shattering filled the air. Instead he grabbed the grocery bag and pulled out the Italian cream cake that was a little mushed up from the fall.

"Here." He nudged Jack with his elbow, who's blue eyes were trained on the burning house, reflecting the flames dancing and jumping before him. "Happy birthday... Again."

Jack looked down at the cake holder before prying the top off and scooping out a handful, messing up the carefully pipped lettering of his name, and taking a bite.

Smirking, Bobby copied him and shoved the baked good into his mouth. Jack's lips mimicked his own as he took another swig of gin. They stayed long enough for sirens to sound in the distance before beating it back to the car. Jack lit a smoke just as he slammed the door shut but he didn't bother to reprimand him. The kid deserved it, after all.

--

Evelyn winked at Bobby across the table while they were eating Sunday dinner as Jack rattled on about some new song he was working on, more animated then anyone had seen him in weeks. It was enough to make even Amelia and Daniela happy, their smiles large as they picked at the corn still uneaten on both their plates. There was no promise for desert if they ate all there veggies because there was no desert that night for anyone.

Just like the broken table from years ago, Evelyn never said anything about the missing birthday cake.

But she did throw him a knowing glare as they watched the evening news about a house fire later on that night. The news chopper, flying high above the inferno was able to catch the still blazing words etched into the hard snow. Bobby couldn't hold his laugh as Camille read the word CHESTER out loud.

Jack turned to look at him then, raising a brow. Bobby leaning in closer to him and said in a hushed voice,

"See that, Jackie? That's the end of this whole mess."

They shared surprisingly identical smiles as they turned back to the RCA screen, more content to hear about the tabby cat that managed to call an ambulance for it's owner that was suffering from a heart attack.

FIN

* * *

A/N: Chester is a common term we use here in the South for a child molester. There's a whole rhyme to go with it, which is funny and not at the same time.

This chapter came out a lot longer and not as strong as I wanted it to. I have no beta at the moment, so let me know about any mistakes that need to be corrected. More importantly, let me know what you think. Feedback nurtures the mind.


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